


Baker St Christmas

by SherlockRiverHekate



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 02:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30098694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockRiverHekate/pseuds/SherlockRiverHekate
Summary: John wakes up to the sound of things being moved around in the apartment. This alone could be a reason to worry. Then there's the sibling celebration for the season.
Kudos: 13





	Baker St Christmas

John stared at the ceiling, hearing the scraping sound of furniture being rearranged down stairs over the steady drumming of the rain on the roof. He idly wondered what Sherlock was doing, but the thought of leaving his warm bed was not appealing at present. He shifted to pick up his phone from the bedside table, noting the time, before reaching for the novel that had been sitting next to his phone.  
John had read no more than a handful of pages when he heard a thump from downstairs followed by a beat of silence and a faint 'I'm okay'.  
With a sigh, John placed a piece of paper between the pages to mark his place, and then got out of bed. He paused before exiting his room, deliberating whether he needed to pick up his medical bag or not. With Sherlock the words 'I'm okay' could mean anything from he really hadn't hurt himself to he wasn't actively bleeding out that second.  
It was then that a muffled curse floated up the stairs, and John decided that whatever medical supplies they had downstairs would be sufficient.

Whatever John had been expecting when he reached the bottom of the stairs, it wasn't this.  
The fairy lights that they normally strung up around the mirror above the fire place were there. But that was normally all the effort that went into decorating for the holidays. This year there was thick red tinsel framing the bookshelves, a paper crown on the skull and three candles in red and green arranged on the mantelpiece. Most surprising, however, was the metre and a half tall Christmas tree shoved behind Sherlock's chair, which had been moved slightly to accommodate it.  
John pulled his phone out of his dressing gown pocket to check the date. December 1st. Normally they wouldn't decorate until about two weeks before Christmas, when Mrs Hudson had her little Christmas get together.  
Sherlock turned and saw him standing frozen with his phone in his hand. "John. I hadn't expected you to be down just yet."  
"What is..? Why are you..?" John started, before shaking his head. He settled on. "We don't normally decorate this early."  
Sherlock stepped off the chair he'd been standing on, the chair tipping slightly and then landing with a thump as Sherlock stepped off. Then John looked over to Sherlock, who had been hanging more fairy lights around the window.  
"Yes, well." Sherlock cleared his throat. "First Christmas back after all. Better make it something to celebrate."  
John nodded slowly. "We've never had a Christmas tree before."  
Sherlock looked over his shoulder to where the artificial tree was standing, unfurled but not decorated.  
"There wasn't really anywhere to put. I've had to move some things."  
John laughed. "You had to tidy somethings too. I think this is the first time I've been able to see the mantelpiece, or that section of floor, since I moved in."  
Sherlock mumbled something that John couldn't make out before moving the chair back to the table.  
"Where'd the Christmas tree come from?"  
"I bought it the other day. A real one would have been too big to fit in that gap," Sherlock told him.  
John went into the kitchen to turn the kettle on.  
"Sherlock," he called. "Am I going to find a head in the fridge when I open it?"  
"No," Sherlock called back. "There's a bag of spleens on the third shelf though."  
Spleens in a bag John could deal with. He started wondering if he should put a whiteboard on the fridge door, and make Sherlock write down what experiments he had in the fridge. That way people would have some warning before they opened the fridge.  
Then he had a thought.  
"If you bought the tree, does that mean you bought ornaments too?"  
John had an image of little skulls and other strange and possibly gruesome things hanging from their tree.  
Sherlock walked into the kitchen and leant against the counter. "Of course. We don't have any. Though mummy did send some of mine down as well."  
A look of alarm flashed across John's face, which was then replaced by curiosity.  
"Childhood ornaments?" He asked.  
"In a way. And before you start thinking that you'll get a glimpse into my childhood, they're wooden ornaments from the German Christmas markets. Our parents bought them when we were little. I believe the intention was that when we had our own families we could decorate the trees with our own set."  
John smiled. "Well, if your parents bought them then at least I can be sure they aren't shrunken skulls."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Really John, you think I'd decorate our tree with skulls?"  
"You put body parts on full display in the fridge," John countered.  
"But they aren't decorations, John. Why would I waste perfectly good body parts when I could be using them for science?"  
John sat down with his cup of tea.  
"When will the decorations get here?"  
"They arrived yesterday while you were at work." Sherlock told him, taking the cup of tea John handed him. "And they match perfectly with the extra decorations I purchased."

Once John was properly dressed, he and Sherlock spread out the tree decorations on the floor.  
"Do we really need the fairy lights, John?"  
"Yea, they go on last over the tinsel."  
"We already have lights over the mirror and on the window," Sherlock argued.  
"Just one thin string around the tree," John countered.  
"I could make some bioluminescent baubles, if you insist on having the tree lit up." Sherlock told him.  
John looked at Sherlock incredulously. "Sherlock! We are not putting glowing bacteria on the tree. Even if it is contained in a glass or plastic ball."  
"Fine," Sherlock huffed.  
"Okay, you take half the red baubles, half the gold baubles and those gold spinner things," John instructed Sherlock. "I'll take the other half and we can each do half the tree. You can put the decorations from your parents up, and then we can arrange the tinsel and the lights."  
Sherlock shrugged carelessly, but bent down and collected half of the round baubles before stepping to the side of the tree closest to the fireplace.  
It became apparent that John and Sherlock had two different methods when it came to placing ornaments on the Christmas tree. John methodically placed an ornament, then stepped back and looked at the tree, before placing the next ornament, and so on. Sherlock, on the other hand, appeared to be placing them haphazardly without checking the arrangement. Yet, when both were done, it was hard to tell who had decorated which part of the tree. The decorations were spread evenly and neatly without appearing to have a defined pattern.  
"It's all yours." John stepped back and gestured from the wooden ornaments to the tree.  
It didn't take long before all the ornaments were placed on the tree, and the tree was wrapped in thin tinsel and fairy lights.

"What was with the sudden need to decorate the flat so early?" John asked Sherlock that night. The only light was coming from the lights strung up around the room, the fireplace and the tellie. It made for a cosy atmosphere in the sitting room.  
"As I said earlier, it's my first Christmas back." Sherlock didn't want to elaborate on that point.  
"Okay, sure. But we've never put so many decorations up before."  
Sherlock placed his cup down carefully.  
"I was away for two Christmases, John. And while I never really celebrated the day, I know that you did. Mycroft told me how you spent the Christmases while I was away."  
John had spent them by himself, not eating or drinking to excess. He'd also barely answered his phone or left his flat for the week leading up to the 25th. All in all, John was worse than when he had returned from Afghanistan.  
"Thank you, Sherlock." John said earnestly.  
"So, if you want to go carolling or something," he waved his hand in the air, "I would be willing to accompany you."  
John smiled. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."  
"Never said I wouldn't complain though," Sherlock added.  
"Wouldn't expect any less of you."  
What Sherlock wasn't going to tell John was that he wanted to replace the memories of Christmases on the run as well.  
Sherlock's phone lit up with a message. He flipped it over and groaned.  
"What is it?" John asked.  
"Apparently my brother approves of the decorations," Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"Does Mycroft still have cameras up?"  
"Yes, but this isn't Mycroft. Which makes his approval of our decorating worse." Sherlock complained.  
"Q's cardigans are, interesting," John agreed.  
Sherlock's phone lit up again.  
"And apparently he also wants to remind me that it is my year to host the sibling Christmas get together."  
"All three Holmes brothers, here?" John asked.  
"Unfortunately."  
John was torn between not wanting to be anywhere near the event, and staying to ensure the flat didn't get totally destroyed.  
"No need to worry, John," Sherlock told him. "Q will come with an agent, no doubt. And Anthea will be coming to guard Mycroft. If you'd like to stay, you can, but otherwise I have no doubt that the flat will still be standing when you return."  
John thought about it for a moment.  
"When will this be?"  
Sherlock went blank for a moment, then reached for his phone.  
"You don't remember, do you?"  
"Of course I do," Sherlock said defensively.  
John laughed, because he knew that tone. Sherlock most definitely had no idea on which date his brothers were supposed to be coming.

"December 16th, 2pm," Sherlock said, out of the blue one day.  
"I'm sorry, what?" John had been reading before Sherlock spoke.  
"When my brothers are coming. December 16th at 2pm." Sherlock repeated.  
"Right," John responded. "So are they coming for dinner, or just for afternoon tea?"  
"Afternoon tea," Sherlock told him. "Mycroft wouldn't lower himself to eat with me, and I don't think Q eat anything more than tea and biscuits."  
"I find it easier and easier to believe that you and Q are brothers," John commented.  
Sherlock looked at him and rolled his eyes. "Also, according to Mycroft and Q, they could be called into work at any time to stop England from falling."  
"Right. Well, if Mycroft is coming I suppose we should ask Mrs Hudson for her set of good china?"  
Sherlock nodded absentmindedly. " You need to get Earl Grey and jammy dodgers from Tesco. And chocolate Florentines."  
"I need to get them?" John asked incredulously. "They're your brothers."  
Sherlock snorted. "I will not go to the shops at this time of the year."  
"You don't go to the shops at any time of the year, Sherlock," John reminded him.  
"Too many stupid people."  
John couldn't really argue with that. It was probably better for the masses of London as a whole if Sherlock wasn't among them during the Christmas rush.  
"So you're staying here then?" Sherlock asked John.  
"Yea. I can sit with Anthea and whichever agent comes with Q. Or see Mrs Hudson. I haven't seen all three of you in the same place before, I don't trust that the flat won't be blown up." John informed him.  
"Relax John. I highly doubt it will end with the flat blown up. More likely Mycroft will storm out." Sherlock drawled.  
Then his phone went off.  
"Disregard my previous statement," Sherlock said after he read the message. "007 is the agent coming with Q. Explosions seem to follow that man wherever he goes."  
"Not reassuring," John called out, already attempting to hide the bottles of chemicals Sherlock had in the kitchen.

Mrs Hudson, quite wisely in John's opinion, chose to leave the flat the day that Sherlock's brothers were due.  
John spent the morning attempting to clean 221b Baker St, much to Sherlock's confusion.  
"Why bother, John? They know what the flat is normally like, they have been here before."  
"Sometimes it's nice to make the place look neat. You know, clean and welcoming?"  
"But I'm not welcoming them, I want them here as little as possible."  
Joh rolled his eyes, but continued in his pursuit.

At 2pm on the dot, there came a sharp rapping at the door.  
"Mycroft," Sherlock stated blandly.  
"Are you going to go let him in?" John prompted.  
"Do I have to?"  
John sighed and went down to let Mycroft, and Anthea in.  
"Thank you, Doctor Watson," Mycroft greeted, leaning his umbrella against the wall.  
"You're staying then?" Anthea asked in a low voice, as she followed behind her boss.  
John nodded. "I know what happens when those two are in the same room."  
They both trudged up the stairs to find Mycroft and Sherlock staring at each other silently.  
After a few more moments of silence, John stepped forward.  
"Tea? Does anyone want tea?"  
He walked into the kitchen to boil the kettle, and Sherlock followed behind him.  
"Remind me again why I'm doing this?" Sherlock muttered.  
"Because you were gone for two years, Sherlock. Your family want to see you, to spend time with you." John said to him. "And apparently it was a tradition that I was unaware of."  
Sherlock made a noncommittal noise, spooning black tea leaves into four cups, a chai mix into another earl grey into the final cup.  
"Pour the water, John. I'll let Q and his agent in."  
John hadn't heard the door, but that didn't mean anything. Sherlock had probably deduced that his brother and the MI6 agent had arrived.

All three Holmes brothers were seated in the sitting room, though none were sitting particularly close to each other. Sherlock was, as usual, in his own chair. Q had seated himself primly in John's chair, much to Sherlock's relief. That had left Mycroft to either sit on the couch, or at the table. With a sigh, Mycroft took a seat at the table.  
John gave them each their cups of tea, placed a plate of biscuits on the table and another on the smaller table by his own chair, and then took the remaining three cups into the kitchen.  
Anthea gratefully took the chai tea, leaving the other two black teas for John and Bond.  
"One thing I can say for Sherlock, is that at least he remembers I prefer chai," Anthea commented. "Better than most people I have to meet with."  
Bond was eyeing Anthea, trying to figure out why she looked familiar.  
Before he could say anything, his phone received a text alert.  
'She's a field agent.'  
Bond nodded in satisfaction, now seeing the line of a gun under her jacket, and slipped his phone back away.  
"Anthea I know, but you are?" John addressed the other man.  
"Bond. James Bond." The agent stuck his hand out to shake. John nodded, and shook it.  
"John Watson, but I'm sure Q has already told you that."  
Bond nodded. "Army doctor with the fifth Northumberland fusiliers, now GP and blogger."  
John shouldn't have been so shocked, but it was a little startling to have your life laid out like that by a virtual stranger.  
"Don't worry Doctor Watson. Bond is a defence force man himself." Anthea smiled cheekily. "Lieutenant Commander with the 030 SFU, Royal Navy, before joining Her Majesty's service."  
She took a sip from her tea.  
Bond eyed her appreciatively.  
"Don't flirt with my brother's body guard, she's still MI6," Q called from the other room. "Not that that has ever stopped you before." He added more quietly.  
"Wouldn't dream of it, Q" Bond called back. Sherlock snorted from the other room.

In the sitting room, Mycroft was watching his younger brothers interact. It was no coincidence that the largest of the tea cups had been filled with Q's preferred tea and that the plate of Jammy Dodgers had been the one placed near the youngest genius. Sherlock had a cup of tea but had handed the biscuits to Q. Despite this, Mycroft noted, Sherlock looked healthier than he had in quite a while.  
"I should feel outnumbered by the amount of muscle the two of you have brought into my house," Sherlock commented.  
"Bond volunteered," Q told his brother. "Otherwise I would have been perfectly happy to come on my own."  
Mycroft snorted. "If 007 had not been accompanying you, I expect you would have conveniently forgotten that you should have been attending something."  
Q turned to him.  
"Not all of us can run the country from the shadows, Myc."  
Mycroft pursed his lips as Sherlock smiled gleefully.  
"I have made my opinion on that nickname rather clear," he said sharply.  
"And what exactly are you going to do about it, Myc?" Q asked impertinently.  
"If you insist on disregarding my choice of name, I can do the same. I do know your given name, after all."  
Q blanched slightly. "Point made, Mycroft."  
The eldest Holmes nodded in satisfaction and sipped his tea.  
"That won't stop me, Myc." Sherlock said. "There is nothing that you could say that John and Q don't already know. And as for the other two, I don't particularly care about their opinions."  
Mycroft knew that against Sherlock, it was a losing battle. He had strings he could pull with both his brothers, but at the moment it wasn't worth it.  
This was the first time in quite a while that they had all been together, and so far it was rather pleasant.

In one room, the three Holmes brothers bickered good naturedly, and played a rather convoluted game of Operation.  
In another room, three Holmes minders (as they had decided to call themselves) sat at a table and swapped battle stories and dealings with the various strange people they came across in their new lines of work.  
John was mildly surprised with how well everything was going. There was the usual brotherly quarrelling that accompanied more than one Holmes in a given space, or even just Sherlock and another person in the same space, but that didn't worry John.  
While listening to Bond retell the non-classified parts of his missions, John had figured out what Sherlock meant when he said that explosions seemed to follow the man. It seemed to John that there was more collateral damage than would benefit a secret agent. And that Q aided Bond in his pyrotechnics somewhat.  
It was then that Anthea's phone went off. John and Bond paused the conversation and looked at her. Anthea waved her hand at them to continue as she read the message.  
"Sorry boys," She said once she'd finished. "I had better collect my Holmes and go."  
She stood and placed her cup on the sink.  
"Thank you for the tea and biscuits, Doctor Watson."  
"No problem." John stood as well. "And I've told you, call me John."  
Anthea made her way into the sitting room, and Mycroft rose when she walked in.  
"As lovely as this has been, I shall have to take my leave, brothers' mine." Mycroft straightened his suit.  
"Shall I tell mother that you will be at Christmas this year?' He asked haughtily.  
"Best not," Q replied. "I have one of the double O's overseas a few days before that. Goodness knows what sort of trouble they might be in by the 25th."  
Sherlock only grunted. It was impossible to tell if it was agreement or disagreement.  
Q stood as well. "I should probably return to headquarters, there's only so long I can be away before something decides to go tits up."  
James had made his way into the sitting room by this point and was standing by the landing.  
"Do you have so little faith in your minions, Q?" he asked with a smile.  
"I have plenty of faith in Q branch," Q replied. "It's your lot I have no faith in."  
This just made James grin.  
Sherlock watched out the window as the oldest and youngest Holmes' and their companions made their way from Baker St and into their cars. Once they were gone, he turned back to the room. John was in the kitchen washing the cups, and Sherlock brought the biscuit trays in to him as well.  
"That went well," John commented.  
"It went better than expected," Sherlock replied. "Though I should have expected that Mycroft would try and get us both to see mummy for Christmas."  
"Why wouldn't you want to see your parents for Christmas?" John asked.  
Sherlock shook his head. "It's not that we don't want to. It just all gets a bit much. And despite his constant reminders to be there, Mycroft hardly ever shows up himself."  
John nodded in understanding.

They were sitting quietly that evening when John noticed the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting on something under the tree. He went to have a closer look, to realise that there were presents under the tree. There had been no presents earlier in the day.  
"Sherlock."  
The other man hummed, but did not look up from his phone.  
"Seriously Sherlock." John tried again.  
This time Sherlock did look up. "What is it?"  
"These presents, did your brothers bring them?" He gestured to the parcels under the tree.  
"No John, they appeared by magic." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, my brothers brought presents for me and for you."  
John groaned. "You need to tell me these sorts of things, Sherlock."  
"Why?"  
"Why?!" John took a measured breath. "So that I could have bought them presents as well."  
"There's no need to do that." Sherlock told him. "I had already organised presents on our behalf."  
John's racing thoughts stopped in their tracks.  
"I didn't see any presents under the tree before they got here," John told him.  
"Of course not. I bought them all specialised gifts. Q and Bond's presents will be delivered to a drop box that Q has agents check regularly. And the gifts for Mycroft and Anthea will be delivered to the Diogenes club."  
John blinked, and then nodded. "Right, that's good." He cleared his throat. "You said they were from both of us?"  
Sherlock looked at him as if he was stupid. "I did just say that. Don't make me repeat myself John, it's tedious."  
John rolled his eyes. "Of course. Sorry for clarifying that you were actually capable of not just remembering to buy presents but also including me as a sender."  
Sherlock sighed softly. "I'm not totally incapable or uncomprehending of social norms and general niceties. I just usually see no need to bother with them. My family and you being the exception."  
John rubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry Sherlock. I should know that by now. You did totally decorate the flat after all, mostly for my benefit."  
Sherlock nodded to John, indicating he was forgiven.  
John sat back down, but continued to eye the wrapped parcels. He wondered what they contained. Knowing Mycroft it would be something understated but still ridiculously fancy. Q, however, was a mystery. A present from the Quartermaster of MI6 could contain anything from a box of biscuits to a piece of specialised technology that could well have the capacity to explode.  
"I can guarantee you won't guess either of them right," Sherlock said.  
John was pulled from his contemplations and turned his eyes away from the gifts.  
"What, and you can?"  
Sherlock smirked. "Naturally."  
"Right, world's greatest detective." John rolled his eyes.  
"That, and I have the benefit of having grown up with both if the gifting parties. It does give me a unique insight into their minds and gifting habits. Observing the presents themselves only helps to narrow the possibilities based on shape, size and weight."  
"So, do you want to open them and see if you're right?" John asked.  
The look he got in return was a mix of shock and disapproval.  
"No. They are Christmas presents and as such, they will be opened on Christmas day."  
John laughed. "I didn't think you were one for traditions, Sherlock."  
The other man shrugged. "Half the fun is the suspense."  
Then he snorted. "Plus, if they were opened early, Mycroft would certainly know about it. I don't want to give him another perceived personality flaw to be insufferable about."  
John conceded the point.  
"Well, nice as today has been, I'm going to bed." John announced.  
As he made his way to his room, Sherlock watched him go. Christmas day would certainly be interesting.  
He thought he knew what Q had given John, and the look on his face would definitely be entertaining. It might be worth going to Mummy's for Christmas just to share that look with other people.


End file.
